


Home

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Heartbreak, Reunions, Separations, warning: boatsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 00:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10979031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Their bodies meld together as if they were made for each other. He pours his love and devotion into every kiss, touch and stroke and he finally feels home again. He never expected to find it in his sister’s arms, but he should have seen from the start this was the inescapable destination of the path he chose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick drabble, inspired by the new pics. There might be a part 2.

Jon should have seen it coming from the moment Sansa leapt into his arms at Castle Black. They’ve taken their home back now and they spend most of their waking hours together. They talk and laugh, they argue and shout at one another and he’s never felt more alive.

He holds her and kisses her temple when she wakes up screaming during the night, haunted by her monsters. She soothes him and brushes his damp hair from his brow when he imagines he’s slipping back into the abyss.

One night they cross the line and he knows there’s no going back. A sudden encounter of skin on skin, a whisper of hot breath behind an ear and suddenly his lips are tasting her mouth, and they inevitably move on to every other inch of her skin.

Their bodies meld together as if they were made for each other. He pours his love and devotion into every kiss, touch and stroke and he finally feels home again. He never expected to find it in his sister’s arms, but he should have seen from the start this was the inescapable destination of the path he chose.

When he’s lying next to her after, head pillowed on her breasts, and shared bliss has momentarily torn down all the walls they’ve built, whispered declarations and promises are made.

In the cold grey light of dawn the guilt catches up with him. He doesn’t need to go in person, but he decides it’s for the best now.

When he informs her, she tries to be cold, but things quickly start heating up and before he knows, it’s happening again and they pretend he’ll never have to leave.

When he slips from her furs under the cover of darkness, he convinces himself he has no other choice.

He says goodbye to her on the gallery surrounding the courtyard. “You promised to protect me,” she accuses him.

_No one can protect you, me least of all_. “I am,” he assures her. He can see how close she comes to rolling her eyes at him.

He reminds her to take moon tea. She doesn’t respond.

“Someone has to go,” he tries again.

“It shouldn’t be you.”

Her tone makes him cringe, but he knows she’s hurt. “It’s our best chance.”

She agrees, she’s told him so before, but she won’t admit that now.

_I’ll miss you._ “I’ll be back soon, I prom-”

“Don’t!” she warns him, fire in her eyes. “I can’t allow myself to hope.”

There’s so much more he would like to say, but he’ll never be able to find the words, so he simply kisses her forehead and hopes she knows.

When he’s mounted his horse, he twists around in the saddle one last time, lifting his arm in a cautious wave. Her face is set in a stony mask when he offers her a wary smile and next to her Littlefinger is leaning against the railing, a smirk on lips.

He turns away and sighs, his heart already aching for the home he’s about to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how sometimes as a writer, you don't really have control over your story? It's the story itself that decides where it's going...
> 
> I think that's what happened here and I hope you won't hate me...

Jon travels south and meets Daenerys Targaryen. He asks for help, she tells him to bend the knee. Daenerys is stubborn and Jon doesn't have the patience to deal with these political games, not with the threat of the White Walkers looming so close.

After months of useless negotiations with the Southron lords, he returns North with her, so she can see the truth with her own eyes. They're ambushed by wights and when the Night's King makes an appearance, Jon is certain the end has come. They barely make it out alive, and one of the dragons is lost.

It scares him. He's seen what they are capable of and he's convinced they'll be useful in the coming war. Yet it seems even these enormous fire-breathing beasts aren't safe from the Night's King's magic.

The nightmares that haunt him remind him how close he came to dying again, but it's the news that kills him. It wasn't even supposed to reach his ears. He only hears it because it's among a list of reports the maester at Dragonstone recites during a council meeting he was invited to.

_Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Princess of the North has wed Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Protector of the Vale._

He doesn't feel alive when he falls into Daenerys' arms on the journey back North. Maybe he's still dying and looking for a way to numb the pain or he might already be dead, desperate as he is to feel something, anything. He doesn't want her, he's not even sure he likes her, but she's close and warm and willing. 

He can barely look her in the eyes. But when he closes his own, he sees creamy skin, elegant curves and limbs, blue eyes and hair kissed by fire. He's disgusted with himself as soon as it's over and the practically runs from his cabin. She's there behind him and she whispers his name.

He apologizes for taking advantage of her. She huffs and tells him he did no such thing. "Do you think I didn't want it?"

That only makes it worse. She was vulnerable, still mourning one of her _children_ and he used her. He used Sansa too, allowing his mind and body to drift to memories of her the way he did. He's as vile a bastard as people always believed him to be.

"This was a mistake," he rasps. "Please, leave me alone."

He turns away from her and waits for her to go. His stomach heaves and he retches its contents into the waves until there's nothing left but bile.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story and commenting!
> 
> I'm not responding to your comments right now, because I want to get this one over with so I can return to my less angsty fics ;)
> 
> In this chapter, I finally got to use that one line I wrote months ago. (It's the remark Jon makes about passion and love)

Daenerys sees his guilt and shame, but not the reasons behind it. Jon only realizes how strongly she's misjudged his reaction, when she proposes marriage. She speaks of politics and duty and strenghtening their alliance, but he sees the flicker of hope in her violet eyes.

He's always done his duty.  _And look where it has brought me._ He's had enough of that and even if he didn't, he can't see how marrying this woman and leading her on has anything to do with duty. So he refuses her.

She doesn't beg, but she argues, tries to convince him with justifications that sound hollow to him.

"There's no need," he reminds her. "We have a common enemy, that should be enough."

"For now."

"For now," he agrees.

Anger flares in her eyes. "And what about after? If you're not with me, you're my enemy."

 _If there even is an after,_ he thinks bitterly. He ignores her threat. "I can't give you what you want."

She's taken aback by that. "Do you regret it?"

"Aye," he says without hesitating.  _It was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened._

She places a small hand on his arm, but he shakes her off.

"I don't. It felt real, there was passion between us."

He doesn't know what drives him to be utterly honest with her, what makes him confess what he should keep hidden inside of him forever. "Any passion you might have felt was just me trying to kill my love for Sansa. And it didn't work. I'll never be yours."

Her eyes widen in shock as her lips part, but then she huffs and jeers: "But you'll never be hers either."

She's got that wrong. He'll always be Sansa's, even if she'll never be his. 

***

After personally overseeing the stationing of troops at the Wall, he finally returns to Winterfell, but she's not there to greet him, so it doesn't feel like coming home. He almost tumbles down when something hard and small collapses with his body and punches him in the gut.

Arya cries out his name and for a couple of minutes, he's overcome with joy. He calls her "little sister" and hugs her and musses her hair. "You're still tiny and skinny," he chuckles.

She retorts: "You're still a brooding idiot."

He snorts but falters at the truth in her accusation.  _Where is Sansa?_ he almost asks, but loses his courage at the last moment. "Where's Li- Lord Baelish?"

"Littlefinger's dead," Arya states flatly, lowering her voice to add: "We killed him on the wedding night."

He's too anxious to let that sink in. "Where is she?"

She chews on her lip before answering: "In the nursery, feeding Ned & Mon."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one more chapter to go.
> 
> I split them up again in order to keep all of the chapters around 500 words.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the middle of writing this yesterday when the trailer appeared on my dash and asdfghjkl!!! I couldn't write another word because I got too excited...
> 
> But here it is...

When Jon enters the room, Sansa stops in her tracks and stares at him, her body leaning forward as if drawn to him by some magnetic pull, and his own mirrors her movement. Seeing her is such a relief his shoulders relax as he releases a breath.

But then her crystal eyes freeze over and she raises herself to her full length, her face settling into a stony mask.

"Is it true?" she asks him and without giving him a chance to ponder her question, adds: "They say you are the Dragon Queen's lover."

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Do you love her?"

He starts to close the distance between them. "Sansa, no. It only happened once, I-"

Her hand lashes out and his cheek stings. "I thought I'd lost you forever," he whispers.

Her bottom lip trembles so slightly he almost misses it. "I had to make him believe he'd won."

"You could have let me know," he forces out through gritted teeth.

"There was no safe way to do that," she mutters, wringing her hands, "even now it's not safe to talk about what we did outside these rooms. Arya and I killed him on the wedding night," she clarifies.

His nostrils flare and he clenches his fists. "Was that before or after the consummation?"

She averts her eyes, and he advances, clutching her shoulder. "Look at me."

She doesn't. "I put the poison in his wine. It caused his heart to beat increasingly faster until it imploded. It's better than he deserved, but I showed him the vial before he went. And I told him." 

Meeting his eyes again, she winces at the look on his face and he releases her. "I- I couldn't take any risks. I needed proof." Her voice is barely audible, he can hear her struggling for breath, even through his rage. 

He has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can ask: "Did he hurt you?"

She only blinks at him before offering him a watery smile. "You came back," she says, as if she didn't realize before. 

"I did," he manages weakly. His head is spinning with unanswered questions. 

They spend a couple of moments studying each other's faces. "Come," she says eventually, taking his hand. He follows her through the door on the other side of the room. 

A maid with a round and ruddy face holding a dark-haired babe to her shoulder sinks into a slight curtsey. "Your Grace. Little Lord Eddard is cramping again, My Lady."

"I'll take him, Poppy," Sansa answers, "you can go now."

She hands the babe over and with another, lower curtsey she leaves the room. Sansa holding her child in her arms, one hand on his chest and belly and the softest of smiles on her lips is the loveliest sight he's ever seen, but his eyes are drawn back to the babe. She doesn't need to explain when he sees the boy's hair, the shape of his nose and his small pouty mouth. "Eddard?" he croaks out.

She offers him that same smile and nods. "Do you think we could try again, Jon? I don't want our sons to grow up without their father."

His breath hitches. What she's proposing is impossible, but he wants it all the same. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, swinging his arm back and forth twice. "I'd like that."

"Aemon's asleep. He was more difficult to bring into the world, but he's easier than his brother now."

"Aemon?" he whispers.

"You always spoke fondly of old Maester Aemon," she muses as she gently rocks little Ned. "And Aemon the Dragonknight used to be your favourite growing up."

"Aemon's not a Stark name," he blurts out and Sansa chuckles, an odd twinkle in her eyes. "No, it's not. Will you hold Ned for me so I can have a look at him?"

He wants to refuse her, he'll drop him or break him, he's too small and too frail, but she's already tucking the babe into his the crook of his elbow, showing him how to support the head. He looks at his little face and his heart swells to an impossible size.

When she turns around, the boy blinks once and stares at him with large violet eyes. 

Sansa smiles at his shocked face, lifting the other babe from his cradle. "Mon's still awake after all," she says.

Aemon looks more like Sansa: he has her eyes and her chin, but the wispy hair covering his small head is silver-gold. 

She chuckles again when she sees his mouth hanging wide open. "Come," she repeats, "it's time you talked to Bran."

He seems to have lost the ability to speak or even think, but he takes her hand and lets her lead him out to the hallway. He's home and they're together again and that's all that matters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting!


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